


Quid Pro Quo

by ragana



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Male-Female Friendship, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Politics, Silver/Flint if you squint, season four speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7718668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragana/pseuds/ragana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Trust is a strong word, particularly pertaining to pirates.</p><p>She trusts John Silver, but with every day that passes, she is gradually realising that he may not always be around. If Flint ends up killing him- or more likely, she suspects, they kill each other- who will guarantee that the alliance will hold?  What is to keep Teach from wiping out her and her people when he feels they inconvenience him?”</p><p>OR: Madi adjusts to her role as queen. It is a steep learning curve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quid Pro Quo

**Author's Note:**

> Things this fic features:  
> -Scenes depicting alcohol consumption and some briefly gory language.  
> -About as much historical accuracy as the show has.  
> -Season four speculation  
> -No legit ship action, unless you count the actual ships they sail on. Sorry, I guess.  
> -Very creative interpretations of democracy, because pirates.  
> -No discernible reason for why this turned out to be nearly ten thousand words .  
> -Allusions to a vaguely-related sequel that will ideally be out in a week or two.
> 
> Critiques are welcome!

They observe the smoldering ruins of the beach from a distance.

Without the spy glass, the bodies appear as nothing more than blurry spots spattered across the sand like constellations. There is little difference between them and the strewn pieces of their shattered barricade until John Silver hands her the spy glass.

She can tell tales to herself to justify the slaughter: that the men died gladly for a cause they believed in, that their souls have ascended to a paradise far greater than anything she has known. Perhaps it is true, perhaps it is a fantasy, but a closer look upon the scene reveals a simple truth that cuts deep: the dead remain dead. Regardless of why they died and where they have gone, there are corpses laying on the sand where their living counterparts once walked, and she had a hand in placing them there. She was the one who believed in the alliance, she was the one who supported a war and sent them to their deaths.

She hands the spy glass back, and the scene blurs again. From here, smoke seems to rise up out of the sand from nowhere, as though their battle had blown holes right through the earth and into hell. Something otherworldly is slipping out into the light of day, she thinks.

Silver says, “I see Flint. I think he’s gone down to look for survivors.”

Is he aware of the way he leans forward with the spyglass now, satisfying some need to be closer? Is he aware that he is allowing himself to be drawn to Flint the way an arrow on a compass searches for the North? It worries her, on some level. A man like Flint and a man like Silver cannot orbit each other without colliding, and the more powerful each becomes, the more catastrophic their collision threatens to be.

 _Kill him now_ , she wants to say. Go down there and drive a blade through his heart while the smoke still provides a little cover; blame it on a red coat who took their time dying. It is unwise to trust a pirate any further than she has to, but given a choice between Flint and Silver, the latter has loyalty and love for his crew that will keep him in line in the war to come. A man who lives solely for vengeance is no longer a man, her mother once told her. A man without any love or attachments is just another corpse on the beach, an empty shell that once hosted a living soul. She cannot trust a man like that.

Silver is so focused with the spyglass that he does not catch her studying him. The pause between her response probably seems normal when he has his attention focused elsewhere.

“I will send my men down there to assist,” she says. “We will leave the dead on the beach and have a funeral pyre every day. It should cover them all before we leave.”

He lowers the spy glass. The look he gives her is both calculating and oddly understanding.

“Will there be a formal ceremony for your mother to secede her leadership to you?” he asks.

“No,” she replies. “There is no need for theatricality. She will make an announcement later tonight.”

“Practical,” he says. “We’ll be busy. We’ll have to work non-stop for at least two weeks before we can leave for Nassau.”

“We will set sail in ten days,” she says firmly.

Silver opens his mouth as if to protest, then seems to think better of it when he looks her in the eye. She holds his stare without wavering until he exhales, nodding slowly. He rubs the spot on his leg where the iron cast meets the stump, and she suspects he does not realize he is doing it.

“Ten days,” he agrees.

*

She catches Silver wincing when he puts weight on the iron leg. It is a rare observation on their journey through the battlefield that grows more and more frequent. By the time they begin their walk back to camp, his mouth has twisted back in a grim expression, his chest heaving in short, heavy movements as he tries to control his breathing. His stubborn need to appear strong is one she understands well, but the part of her that has grown fond of him despairs to see him in pain.

Yet a pirate does not give anything away without first taking something in turn. That is a lesson she is quickly learning.

“I am afraid,” she tells him.

“Afraid of what?”

“I am afraid that none of my men will return from the battle.”

He stops. He rubs his leg again, this time fully aware of what he is doing.

“Some will,” he says. “Some won’t. That’s how it’s going to be from now on.”

What he puts into words is something that she has known for a while and avoided dwelling on: that this will happen again. No matter what she does, her people will die again in their fight for freedom.

She accepts this quietly, and when Silver tentatively puts an arm around her shoulder, she accepts that too. She takes the hand that rests on her shoulder and wraps one arm around his back, allowing him to lean part of his weight against her.

Together, they walk back to the outskirts of the camp. Silver untangles himself, giving her an acknowledging nod, and puts a respectable half metre between them for the rest of the walk back.

 

*

 

There are no words for the relief she feels when she spots some of her men already at the camp. Ten of them, all bruised and bloody and all _alive_ \- she could weep with happiness at the sight. Even though she did not have the courage to identify every corpse on the beach and estimate a body count, the math is already looking better and better.

The pirates prove to be resilient as well, a handful waiting at the camp and another scattered few making their way in from different directions. Where once they stayed a distance from Madi’s people, eyeing them with suspicion and a residual anger, they pass around water and rum, food and makeshift bandages. She finds herself blinking a few times just to believe her eyes.

“Having a common enemy does wonders,” Silver mutters.

He scans the camp, which remains ignorant of their approach. He looks all around it, squinting at the faces of bloodied men, and he does not find whatever he is looking for. Madi only has to wonder for a moment before she retraces her own thoughts and recognizes what he wanted to see.

What would Mr. Dobbs think of this camaraderie?

Silver threw him into mortal danger without a second thought, ready to sacrifice him for the bigger picture. She looks at the faces of all the survivors, and wonders what would happen if a fallen pawn crawled back up to confront the king who sacrificed him.

Then all the faces turn to her.

It begins as a quiet chorus of _there, it’s them, they’re alive,_ and suddenly pitches upwards in volume, growing louder and louder in a matter of seconds. Pirates and her own men, women and children, all of them watching her and Silver’s arrival with reverent attention. Silver glances over at her and gives her a look that’s half a smile, half a wince, and she returns the look for just a second before she composes herself for what comes next.

He lifts the hand that Madi had held onto barely minutes before and waves.

The camp’s greeting rises to a roar.

A long, horrific day with at least fifty lives lost, and every person there is _beaming_. Blood, sweat, dirt, and tears tracked all down their faces as they laugh and shout and surge forward to greet them.

 _John_ fucking _Silver, a goddamn sharpshooter,_ she hears as the group engulfs them, clapping their shoulders and laughing by their ears. Strategist that won the battle on land, killer of red coats, a warrior that only needs a single fucking leg. He is on his way to being mythologized at this rate. And then-

_Queen Madi._

She has repeated the words in her mind over and over, but to finally hear them aloud stuns her.

 _Queen Madi,_ she hears again, and the wind is knocked right out her when she realizes where the exclamations are coming from.

Everyone. Pirate and islander alike.

“Stood by our quartermaster and gunned down those fucking red coats,” one of them shouts. “English _pigs_ ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em!”

She had fired a few rounds when the ambush began and never saw if they found any targets, but no one here cares about that detail. She looks at Silver and wonders if this is  how he felt after murdering Dufresne- if this is how it feels to become a tall tale.

The thought slips away from her when she spots her mother.

She remembers the feeling of leaving her mother in the shelter, of not knowing if she would see her again. She remembers the screams of dying men and the weight of the rifle in her hands. Her mother smiles at her, eyes shining with tears she will never shed in public, and Madi suddenly feels so very small. She feels a sharp pang of longing for days long past; when her mother would braid her hair before bed and tell her stories, when she would sit by Madi’s bed as she fell asleep to quell her fear of the dark.

 _Queen Madi._ The words do not leave her mother’s lips, but they don’t have to- her eyes say it all.

She pushes past the crowd, nodding her acknowledgements at everyone she can, and throws her arms around her mother. She holds on tightly, willing herself not to cry, and her mother squeezes her shoulders. They stand there without speaking, swaying from the effort to stay on their feet.  Madi grew out of childhood many, many years ago, and now she is growing out of her role as a daughter too. Now she must be something more.

“I’m ready,” Madi whispers.

“I know you are,” her mother whispers back. “I have known for a long time.”

Madi breathes deeply, taking in comforting smell of her mother safe and sound and mustering up the courage she needs. She releases her mother and steps back, allowing her arms to fall back to her side.

“Great sacrifices were made today,” Madi says to the crowd, and though she starts off shouting to be heard over the clamour, they have all gone quiet as she finishes her first sentence. “Many men laid down their lives today to achieve a great victory. One that will take us forward in the war to come, and push us far ahead of the enemy. Of _our_ enemy.”

People are nodding along, a couple particularly obnoxious pirates hollering an agreement. She does not dare look to Silver or her mother. She cannot show any need for reassurance.

“We have all lived under the shadow of corrupt, greedy empires for too long,” she continues. “Our fear of being enslaved by them has influenced us for too long. Our fears have turned us all against each other for _too long_ , and today we conquered that fear. Today we laid aside our qualms and saw the truth that England wanted to keep from us: that without men and women to enslave, England is _nothing._ ”

They roar in agreement, and she raises her voice to accommodate them, her stomach lurching.

“ _Spain_ is nothing, Portugal is nothing, the Dutch are nothing. They have relied on our fear and our compliance to build their empires! With one hand, they hold the mask of _civilized society_ to hide their faces, and with the other hand they strike us with the slaver’s whip to keep us in line. Today, we have ripped that mask away and exposed them for who they are- cowardly _beasts_ with no power to build their own empires when we refuse to do it for them.”

Some of these men once sailed with slavers before defecting to piracy, and Rackham himself used slave labour to rebuild the fort in Nassau. She is not sure if she could ever forgive them, not truly. She must sell them the concept of a blank slate and brotherhood now, but she would not buy it herself.

“My brothers, my sisters, we are done living in fear. Our alliance has been solidified in blood and we _will_ take Nassau back. We will build our own nation there because we _can._ We can do things that that England and Spain can only dream of doing alone, becaus _e_ together we are _stronger._ ”

She can hear her own heartbeat in her ears, even over the cacophony. Her stomach twisting and her heart cold, she has to force herself to turn and look at Silver. He meets her eyes with a calm and considering look, and she nods at him just the slightest, allowing him to take over.

“Governor Rogers will answer for the blood that was spilled today,” he announces. “When we have honoured our dead and replenished the ships, we will sail straight to Nassau and he will _know their names._ The last thing he will hear before he hangs will be the names of every man who gave their lives to put the noose around his neck. And _friends-_ ”

He pauses. He spreads his arms wide with a brilliant smile and says, “- There is no greater honour than to be cursed by a rich, privileged bastard.”

The din of the crowd rises louder and louder, eliminating any need for a formal end to the speech. Even her own people, cautious and practical, have soaked up the motifs of brotherhood and insurrection. The decision to burn the bodies rather than bury them can be announced later, she decides. Those who hear the news second hand will not be clouded with this same enthusiasm.

Silver leans in and raises his hand to shield his voice.

“Did you mean a word of that?” he asks.

She swallows down a bitter smile and says nothing. Her mother is lost in the crowd, and she is glad. She could never bear the guilt of her mother catching her in a lie.

One of Silver’s men approaches them then- one he sent out help scout for survivors in the forest. He whispers something in Silver’s ear, his face carefully neutral, and Silver nods, thanking him quietly. He is silent for just a few seconds, and it is all she needs to guess what the news is.

“Mr. Dobbs is dead,” he says.

“Well,” she says. “We will add him to Governor Rogers’ list then.”

 

*

With the arrival of Teach’s men and Bonny’s successful charge, they now have a collective total of seven ships. The amount of people boarding that ship grows with every passing hour, until she can guess with confidence that the body count is under one hundred. An awful, staggering number when she takes into consideration how many of her own men are among the dead, but she must swallow down that pain and begin to plan for the battles to come.

Practical, as Silver said.

The war council is her first opportunity to gauge the tentative alliance. Silver will not betray them to any empire, and Flint is momentarily kept in balance by his quartermaster. Jack Rackham appears a strange sort of fellow, not someone she would imagine to be a captain until he begins to speak. Bonny does not take a seat, and after a few minutes disappears altogether. Teach is somewhat underwhelming after years of hearing legends of the fearsome Blackbeard, but she does not doubt that he will kill her if his alliances shift.  

She has a memory of Nassau, from many years ago. She had been sent outside with Eleanor Guthrie to play while their fathers conducted business with traders, men with cold eyes and a pistols on their hips. Madi had not understood why these meetings always took so long. An exchange at the market was quite simple, after all, and when she raised the question, Eleanor just rolled her eyes.

“Men,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s what they do. They draw out their debates to intimidate each other and just circle-jerk for hours.”

Eleanor had her tiny mouth washed out with soap on countless occasions, of course, but she had some level of wisdom as a child to match her crudity. As soon as pleasantries and body counts are exchanged, all four men launch into debate.

How many repairs does the captured ship truly need, how many supplies do they need to move on board for the voyage, what will they do with any remaining military when they arrive in Nassau, how will the island be governed, _does_ the island even need to be governed-

“Of _course_ it needs a governor,” Rackham says. “Loathe to admit, but Guthrie and Rogers were nattering on about civilizing Nassau for  a reason. Left completely to their devices, it would be chaos!”

“We are _here_ right now because Nassau was once left to its own devices,” Flint argues. “The position of governor has been largely ornamental for over a decade now. A republic of pirates can only be born when the masses choose to reject autonomous authority-“

“They rejected _English_ authority,” Teach interrupts. “There’s a difference you should be watching for. When I sailed from Nassau-“

Flint and Silver exchange knowing looks, as if to say _here we go again_ , but Rackham is the one to cut in.

“Yes, yes, you were the most feared pirate to sail the seas and everyone recognized your authority. We don’t deny that. _Influence_ and government are two different things, however-“

“We don’t need a government, we need a magistrate,” says Teach. “One man to make decisions that need to be made.”

“And you feel that man is you,” says Silver.

“I respectfully object,” says Rackham. “Whilst you have a long and admirable history of scaring the shit out of many a pirate-“

“And _you’re_ a prime candidate? You couldn’t rebuild the fort with an entire ship full of gold to back you,” Teach scoffs.

“Those were different circumstances!”

“Hardly.”

Madi seizes the chance to speak before Rackham can interject.

“Perhaps if we arranged a vote when we arrived-“

“I’ll not be taking orders from the likes of you,” Teach snaps at Rackham, ignoring her altogether. “A worthy pirate does not make a worthy leader.”

“Gentlemen,” Madi says a little louder, and Silver is the only one who looks at her. He nods, but his silent encouragement is the only acknowledgement she gets from the room. She wonders where the hell Anne Bonny went, and why she didn’t demand a seat at the table.

“I brought back the Urca gold when no one else did,” Rackham exclaims. “Is that the accomplishment of a common pirate?”

“You brought back the gold because your _woman_ was allied with the one my quartermaster betrayed me to,” Flint says. “You didn’t even choose Max or Silver as an ally- you rode on Bonny’s coat tails.”

“Wasn’t your quartermaster at the time,” Silver says.

“I brought back the gold because you were foolish enough to trust the word of a bloody _thief_ instead of investigating yourself!” Rackham snaps back, then shoots an apologetic look towards Silver. “No offence, of course- we’re all thieves and I admire your prowess greatly.”

“None taken,” Silver replies.

“ _I_ am the fool?” Flint demands. “Had you not returned to an _occupied Nassau_ seeking a pardon-“

Silver clamps a hand down on Flint’s shoulder, hard enough to silence him, but it is too late to stop whatever has been done. Rackham freezes up, and Teach lets his fist drop to the table with a resounding _thud._

“What I believe we’re all trying to say-“ Silver tries.

“How dare you,” Rackham says quietly, and Silver shuts his mouth. “How _fucking_ dare you? You may call me a fool, you may hurl every accusation under the sun at me, but don’t you _ever_ try to pin Charles’ death on me.”

“On you specifically?” Flint says, a cold amusement in his eyes. “I would never. We all did our part to push Vane to his end. His blood is on _all_ our hands-“

 _Not mine_ , Madi wants to say, some childish instinct to shift the blame when she is being shamed.

“I told Charles there was nothing for him in Nassau-“ Teach begins, and Flint continues over him.

“If we are to going to even _pretend_ to honour his death, we must acknowledge what he lived for first-“

“ _He is not a prop you get to pull out whenever you have a point to prove_ ,” Teach roars, standing up from the table so forcefully that his chair topples backwards.

“He _regretted_ turning on you in favour of Eleanor Guthrie,” Flint says, and Silver stops him again with a hand on his arm as he goes to rise from his seat. “Vane knew a one-man system had no place-“

Teach lunges across the table, and Rackham just barely grabs him in time.

“Let go of me!” Teach shouts. “You would be rotting on the fucking sand if it weren’t for Charles, you-“

“He knew sacrifices had to be made-“

“Oh, _shut up_ ,” Rackham yells over the both of them. “So help me God, I will let him loose if you don’t shut up-“

“ _Enough,_ ” Madi screams, rising from her own chair.

Teach and Rackham stop. For the first time since the meeting began, she has everyone’s undivided attention.

“Men have fought and _died_ for a war we have only just begun, and they will continue to die in every battle to come! You believe they would give their lives for _this_ ? For an island ruled by whatever _bickering_ pirate fancies himself a king that week?”

“What the _fuck_ do you know about what it means to rule?” Teach demands.

“I know that proclaiming yourself a leader does not make you one,” she yells back. “You must prove your worthiness to your people again and again, day after day- you cannot arrive and just _remind_ them of what you once were!”

She shoots a withering glare at Teach and Rackham, viciously pleased when Rackham recoils, then turns it upon Flint.

“If you behave as children stealing the same toy away from each other _over and over_ , that is the way Nassau will treat you.”

She adjusts her shawl and clears her throat, willing herself to breathe in deep.

“We will adjourn the meeting and begin again tomorrow with clear minds,” she says. “We will be burning ten of the fallen men at sunrise tomorrow. I would like to see you all there.”

She turns and leaves.

 

*

After the meeting, Madi takes a seat by the firepit alone. She has too many thoughts churning around in her head to sleep. Though talking with her mother has always made her feel better, she is not quite willing to confess that she lost her temper on her new allies.

Silver finds her some time later, a bottle of rum in one hand and two glasses in the other. He takes a seat next to her, giving her space, and begins to pour out two drinks. He raises one up in the air, and she frowns.

“I am formally congratulating you,” he says with a conspirative tone.

“For what?”

“For making Jack Rackham shit his pants in the middle of a war council.”

She sighs deeply and lifts a hand to her forehead.

“Someone had to do it,” he tells her, in what is probably meant to be an assuring tone.

“It is not _dignified,_ ” she says. “If I have to shout every time I want to be heard, I will lose my voice by the end of the week.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think I saw Flint jump in his seat a little.”

“Teach did not seem intimidated.”

“First try,” he says.  “No one masters a skill on the first try. I’m sure he’ll see you in his nightmares by the time we get to Nassau.”

“It is not my intention to intimidate them,” she confesses. “I would only have them see me as an equal.”

He downs the rest of his drink in three consecutive gulps, wincing all the way.

“Long live the queen,” he says, and coughs a few times. “You see, respect is funny thing. If you earn it through fear, you risk earning their hatred. If you earn it through love, you still risk that hatred when you do something they don’t like- they’ll feel betrayed when you act like a leader rather than a friend.”

“How did you earn the respect of your crew?” she asks.

“I made myself invaluable to them.”

“And how did you do that?”

“I stood up to Flint until he listened to me.”

A chill runs through her, and she shifts a little closer to the fire.

Her people have reported back to her on all the conversations they overhear among Flint’s men. The woman he lost in Charlestown that was the driving force behind his rage, his decision to sail straight into a storm rather than accept a pardon, the duel with Teach that would have been as good as suicide without intervention- she already knew him as a most dangerous sort of beast. Now, however, she is beginning to consider something even more unsettling: that John Silver is trying to tie a leash to that beast.

“You left for Nassau as a loved man amongst your crew,” she says carefully. “You returned both loved _and_ feared. Has this changed the crew’s respect for you?”

There is a glint in his eyes, an edge to his smile that she does not like.

“I believe it has been made stronger,” he says.

“How so?”

“I believe that they would have mourned my absence before. But now… they would not only mourn, they would be seized with fear at the prospect of going on without me. They believe they cannot fight this war without me.”

When he looks at her again, the smile slips from his face. Perhaps her alarm shines through her attempt to maintain neutrality, or perhaps he has realized for himself what he sounds like. _Who_ he sounds like.

“Your situation is not so different, of course,” he says, diverting his stare to the fire. “You have three men to demand respect from, all of them leaders, but the method remains unchanged. Make them listen to you, and make yourself invaluable to them.”

He pauses, then adds with a small smile, “You’ve done the first already.”

She does not reply, instead taking a moment to drink and contemplate his words. The first sip of rum always feels like a slap to her no matter how many times she drinks it. She wonders if the war councils will feel the same.

“You told me once that you felt Flint was dragging you into the darkness,”  she says eventually. “You feared it then. Do you still feel the same way?”

It is Silver’s turn to take a long drink. He coughs out a small laugh and shakes his head.

“He told me something last night, you know. Something that likely no other person alive knows about. Something that I could ruin him with if I was truly determined. I didn’t manipulate him, I didn’t threaten him- I just asked him, and he told me. Either he’s playing one hell of a mind game with me, or…”

He trails off, as if the thought is too absurd to voice.

“He trusts you more than anyone else,” she says softly.

“Every other person who stood where I stand now ended up dead. I know that,” he says. “Yet I catch myself wondering if there’s a way around it.”

 _Oh, John_ , she thinks, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m not afraid of what I’m becoming,” he admits. “I hate it, but my desire to crawl back towards the light is vanishing. I’m not sure what kind of man that makes me.”

Madi watches him. He is different by the light of the fire, his eyes darker and the shadows beneath them deeper.

“The kind of man who wins a war,” she tells him.

 

*

 

Five drinks later, the fire has almost died down and the rest of the camp has turned in. They sit side by side in the darkness, quietly watching the soft glow of the embers flicker out one by one.

“I’ll have to kill him one day,” he says suddenly.

“I know,” she replies.

A long silence passes.

“I don’t want to,” he whispers.

She rests a hand on his trembling shoulder.

“I know.”

*

Her mother lights the pyre at dawn.

She was still queen when the men died, so it remains her duty to send them off. When the bloodsoaked sun begins to rise, she lowers the torch to the wood and palm leaves. She does not need to light more than one spot- the fire roars across the pyre in an instant, following her bidding just as her people have done for years. Her mother does not need to scream and rage to bend the world to her will, Madi thinks bitterly. The dead that depart today are seen off by a true queen.

Teach and his men did not attend. This is not a fact that surprises her, nor is it one that should matter to her, but it _does_ , it truly does. The grief she feels at burning a pile of dead men is almost overshadowed by her rage at Teach’s disrespect. _Almost._ She reigns in her urge to weep by focusing on the awful sight, by clenching her fists and vividly imagining lunging at him the way he did to Flint the prior night.

At least Flint had the balls to show up.

Rackham too, though he merely lowers his hat at her with a respectful nod before he’s lost in the crowd, Bonny beside him. Flint stands at the front of the procession, Silver as the unrelenting shadow at his side. He refuses to flinch at the smell of burning flesh, even so close to the source. Perhaps after a certain point, there is no difference between the forms the dead take, fresh or charred or decaying. Perhaps to a man like Flint, it all feels the same.

Her heart aches when she looks to Silver for a comparison. He swallows every several seconds as if he has it timed in intervals, his face pale and his hands curled into fists to keep them from trembling. He probably regrets drinking the night before.

Herself? Madi knows her limits in all aspects of her life. It is her job now to push her limits further and further: where once she would have fled the smell and the grief after a certain point, she now forces herself to stay until the sun is well on its way into the sky, until she begins to see the skulls of the dead men. She will outlast the others who cannot bear to watch. She will outlast the little girl she used to be.

In the end, she outlasts Flint as well. She is torn between anger ( _Look at the lives we helped to vanquish_ , she wants to say) and triumph ( _You cannot make yourself look, but_ I _can_ ). As he makes to leave, however, she catches something peculiar.

Flint looks at Silver; truly looks at him for a long moment, taking him in the way he once evaluated the approaching forces in the battle. Then he reaches out and brushes his fingers across Silver’s whitened knuckles. Madi sees how his hand relaxes at the brief touch. Flint turns away without looking at him, and like the tide seeks land, Silver follows.

He is not fleeing, she realizes. He is taking Silver away from here. She is uneasy with that thought.

The captain leads his quartermaster away, and the beach gradually clears out. There are many preparations to be made for the voyage and little time to complete them. Madi too must balance her obligation to respecting the dead with her obligation to lead. Her first full day as a queen awaits her.

When they are both ready to leave, her mother takes her hand and squeezes it.

“A queen does not weep over what she cannot change,” her mother says. “You must find what you can change and stop at nothing until you succeed.”

*

The day is spent taking inventory of everything they have left. They count the survivors of the battle, the weapons, the food, the wood and nails to fix up the conquered ship, and begin their preparations. Teach’s men take the materials onto the battered ship and get down to work, Flint’s men begin to move fresh water onto their ship, and her own people begin to gather up their belongings and sharpen their blades.

All of them, Madi included, spared three men each to comb the island for any corpses they missed. The bodies are moved to the beach, the weapons salvaged. By midday, sixteen swords and nine rifles are returned to camp. She does not know how many bodies it took to produce that amount, and allows herself the luxury of waiting until the end of the day to ask for an exact number.

Though Silver takes well to ordering the teams of workers around, he settles into sorting through the growing pile of weapons with her. Every ship needs an equal cache, with an extra two caches to be stored on the beach and in the camp on the off chance of another invasion. It is easy to forget how many people died at the hands of these objects when they are strewn about and sorted into piles like coins. They keep tally of which loads go to which ship, correcting each other when they lose track.

“Teach has a dozen guns already,” she says. “Rackham gets the next load.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Silver mutters. “We should be writing this down. Pirates get very _emotional_ over equal portions.”

She spies Anne Bonny from over his shoulder, approaching from a distance, and feels a pang of anxiety over his words.

“I will not tell you the tale of the time a cake was served at Nassau’s tavern, as it is simply too tragic and barbaric to subject a queen to, but rest assure the scene that followed the accusation that some portions were unfairly-“

“Silver,” she interrupts, and he shuts up just before Bonny is within hearing range. “Don’t look,” she adds.

Silver does a full 180 degree turn to look, then turns back to her with a pained expression.

“You were right,” he says.

She sighs, and nods at a nearing Bonny. She knows the feeling of entering a conversation with the knowledge that she has just been discussed, and she does not intend to force that feeling upon Bonny.

“Good day, Miss Bonny,” she calls out. “You are just in time. We are about to send out a load of rifles to Captain’s Rackham’s ship.”

Bonny nods back, and maybe even glances over from under her hat. From what Madi has heard, she should take that as a positive sign. Bonny points at the sack full of guns, a silent request for clarification, and Silver pats it as if to say _yes, they’re yours._

“Do you perhaps have some men around to carry that down…” Madi begins, and trails off when Bonny grabs the sack with both hands and tosses it over one shoulder. She turns to leave without a word.

Fair enough, she supposes. There is, however, a thought that has been bothering her all morning, ever since she glimpsed Bonny and Rackham on the beach. They had walked away side-by-side with mirrored steps, impossible to tell who was leading whom, and Madi knew then she would have to speak with Bonny if she ever caught her alone. She didn’t seem to be in much of talking mood, but rumour has it that she rarely is.

“Miss Bonny,” she says. “I would like to ask you a question.”

Silver shoots her an alarmed look, which quickly dissolves as Bonny stops and turns around.

“Your charge against the enemy was most daring,” she says, and wishes she could see Bonny’s expression. “It took much skill to successfully take the ship.”

“That’s not a question,” Bonny mutters.

“My question was why you do not have a seat at the war council. You were crucial in winning the battle, and you clearly do not defer to any man. I would have thought you would want a say in how we proceed with this war.”

“Then you’d think wrong.”

“But-“ Madi begins to question further when Bonny flashes her a glare

She stops, not out of any kind of fear, but from a desire to walk away knowing that their next conversation will be welcomed. She has heard the rumours, that Bonny is volatile, prone to fits of madness and violence. Though she believes them to a certain extent, she also believes in what she sees: a woman who has won both battles and the respect of the men she fought beside. Madi would do well to ally herself with a warrior, particularly one who may share fights with her that others do not.

“I don’t do politics,” Bonny says, after a moment passes.

“I understand,” says Madi. “I would like another woman on the council, but I understand.”

“You want my advice?” Bonny says.

Madi straightens up, surprised. Silver stares intently at the basket of ammo, pretending not to be there.

Bonny lifts her chin, looks Madi straight in the eye, and says, “Tell ‘em all to get fucked.”

“Oh,” says Madi.

“You don’t need to earn shit from men- they ain’t going to give you anything that they won’t take right back. You’re wasting everyone’s time convincing them you’re a queen. Tell ‘em what you think our next move should be and smack the shit out of ‘em until they listen.”

Madi stares at her for a few seconds, slightly stunned, then thanks her politely. Bonny grunts affirmatively and walks away.

Silver lowers the basket, staring after her retreating figure with bewilderment.

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard her speak,” he says.

“Her partner is on the council,” Madi says. “Did she just advise I… ‘smack the shit’ out of her partner?”

“Yes,” he replies. “Yes, she definitely did.”

She sighs, the kind of weary, bone-deep sigh that exudes all her energy in one breath and makes her want to lay down on the ground.

Bonny’s advice was, in a way, not so different from her mother’s advice. When stripped to the bone, both yield the same rhetoric: do not dwell on what you cannot change. She cannot bring the dead back to life, and she cannot change the fact that these men are part of a club that she will never have access to. She will always be an outsider- a woman, a _savage-_ and there is nothing she can do to stop them from seeing her that way.  

All that she _can_ do is establish herself as their equal. She will never be one of them, but she will find a way to make them listen to her and count her input as valuable.

“I can’t stoop to violence here,” she says, resigned.

“No,” he agrees. “But it would be funny.”

 

*

The next meeting is arguably worse than the first one, of course.

Rackham is significantly less judgemental this time around, but he is also significantly slower to grab Teach when he goes to throttle Flint. Two minutes and twice as many black eyes later, she suspects it was intentional.

“Do you still feel this alliance is the best course?” her mother asks her after the next funeral ceremony is over. “Do you truly trust that these men will not lead us to extinction?”

Madi has to think on that one for a moment. _Trust_ is a strong word, particularly pertaining to pirates. She trusts John Silver, but with every day that passes, she is gradually realising that he may not always be around. If Flint ends up killing him- or more likely, she suspects, they kill each other- who will guarantee that the alliance will hold?  What is to keep Teach from wiping out her and her people when he feels they inconvenience him?

 _Change what you can. Make them listen. Make yourself invaluable._ Everything keeps coming back to that, but _how_ does she go about accomplishing such a feat?

“Yes,” she finally replies.

“However?”

“However,” Madi says, and heaves a sigh. “How do you deal with men will not agree with each other?”

“Make them agree,” her mother replies predictably.

“How? They are united in a common goal, but they cannot agree on how to reach that goal. They are too _stubborn_ for me to push them towards picking just one of their ideas.”

“Then you must offer them all a better idea.”

“But _what_?” she despairs. “I have not been to Nassau in over a decade! How can I know what is best for her if I no longer know her?”

She misses her father so badly and so suddenly that it knocks the wind right out of her. He would have the perspective she needs. He would have ideas.

“Father would know,” she whispers.

“Of course he would,” her mother says, her tone somewhere between sad and fond. “But he is not here, Madi. And if he were, I would forbid him from giving you any answers. This is a problem you must solve on your own.”

Madi exhales, blinking back tears.

“You will see this through,” her mothers says firmly. “You are closer to the solution than you think.”

 

*

Madi works alone for the rest of the morning and afternoon, pretending that her father is there with her. She imagines him disassembling a shelter with her, his baritone voice humming a song as he works. His strong hands tearing the pieces of wood down with ease, gently telling her to carry them off in bundles of three to avoid exhaustion.

The night before the Rosario raid, he had kneeled down to her height and wiped the tears from her face. He had pointed to the moon and told her that every person on earth, no matter where they were, all looked up at the same moon every night.

 _Look up at the moon when it is highest in the sky_ a _nd know that I am looking at it too, thinking of you and your mother_ , he said, and she had only cried harder.

Tonight, the moon is visible in the sky long before the light leaves. She watches it as she eats, recalling how she had faithfully stared upwards every night before she went to sleep, and finally understands how lonely her father must have been on Nassau.

Even hundreds of miles away from his people, he had responsibilities that no governor could ever know. The men who ruled over Nassau never had as much to lose as her father had, as _she_ did now. If they had, they would not have been corrupted so easily. They would have fought and found a way to survive and thrive like her father-

An idea strikes her so hard that she drops her food.

“Oh,” she says aloud, her eyes wide.

She scrambles to her feet and looks towards the camp, her heart pounding, and for a moment she can swear she feels her father’s steady gaze on her. Her mind, once trapped in a never-ending loop of anxiety and speculation opens up wider than it has been in days; thoughts swarming outwards like a beehive struck open from afar.

She understands what she needs to do.

*

When the war council convenes two hours later, she is ready.

“Gentlemen, if I might raise an idea before we begin,” she says as soon as she sits. She has long suspected that from the many methods of getting heard, speaking first is the simplest.

“Please go ahead,” Silver says before anyone else can speak, and she doesn’t miss the suspicious side glance Teach gives him.

She cannot take a deep breath before she speaks, not in front of these men. She has to dive right in.

“Nassau has been subject to governors since its colonization,” she says. “Perhaps that has been part of her weakness all along. One man standing alone, able to be bullied, bribed, or murdered.  What if we eliminated that system altogether?”

“And replace it with _what_?” Rackham asks.

“A council, similar to this,” she answers.

“Are you-“ Rackham fumbles for words. “Are you _mad_ ? I’m sorry, truly I am, but we barely make it through these meetings without strangling each other. You want the governance of Nassau to be run in the same _shitshow_ manner?”

“She has a point,” Flint says, and all three men turn to look at him with alarm. He shakes his head, a sort of _I’m surrounded by idiots_ look on his face, and continues.

“A council, if cohesive, would appear a more formidable force. Without a sole target to fix their sights on, our enemies would not know what to do. They would reveal themselves in the time it takes to find the weakest link among us. “

Who does _he_ believe to be the weakest link among them, she wonders darkly.

“The people of Nassau are all too eager to accuse the dominant force of being a tyrant,” Silver adds. “Perhaps a few more ears is what they need to feel listened to.”

Rackham is staring at her like she has just hiked up her dress and pissed all over everything he holds dear, but Teach makes no indication for or against the proposition. Madi looks at him first when she speaks.

“I understand the previous governor organized a committee of business owners who had input on the politics of Nassau. Is it truly such a large leap to eliminate the figurehead and govern with a group instead?”

It strikes her then that all four men are looking at her- _looking_ at her, not right through her like she’s part of the fucking furniture.

“One person to speak on my people’s behalf,” she says, gesturing at herself.

“One person to speak on behalf of the pirates,” she says, and makes a sweeping gesture at them to indicate that the nominee is open to debate.

“And one person native to Nassau, whomever they feel will represent their best interests,” she finishes.

“And this hypothetical pirate nominee,” Rackham says, blinking rapidly. “Do they stay put on Nassau all the live long day, or do they continue pirating and return to politics at will?”

She holds in a smile. He is hooked- he isn’t agreeing just yet, but that spark of interest won’t be smothered so easily.

“An equal commitment, perhaps,” she says. “Governing Nassau is a great responsibility, but one cannot hope to represent pirates if one has ceased pirating.”

He frowns, and she looks back to Teach.

“Of course, we would need a magistrate as well,” she adds.  “The courts of Nassau cannot be in the council’s pocket if we are to uphold the law in a fair and unbiased manner. Our magistrate would be the backbone of Nassau. One who would need to… make _difficult decisions._ ”

Something in Teach’s demeanour changes, just for a moment. A shifting expression, a flicker of interest maybe, and she holds her breath.

“If we did this, it would require a vote,” Teach says. “All three crews put forth their candidates, and all three crews vote the same night. No campaigns, no bullshit, no swaying the vote.”

“Of course,” she says, and hopes the shock does not shine through in her voice.

“I’m not directing that at you,” he says, casting a dark look towards Flint. “I’ve no solidarity with any man who would follow rather than lead, but I would have that man _pick_ who to follow. We take away their right to vote, we’re no better than a slave-mongering empire.”

“I agree,” Flint replies, staring him down.

“Hold on, are you _agreeing with her_?” Rackham asks, and doesn’t sound offended so much as surprised.

“I don’t trust any one of you to rule in solitude,” Teach says. “A man standing alone against forces that push against him from every angle is destined to fall. You’ll all need each other to weather the _shitstorm_ that’s coming to Nassau.”

“I’m sorry, but weren’t you just campaigning to be the king of Nassau?” Rackham says. “Literally two days ago. Am I the only one who remembers this?”

“I was campaigning against _you_ being the king of Nassau,” he retorts, waving one hand to indicate that he means all of them. “There’s a difference, Rackham. I’m not going to be alive forever, and it would be _nice_ to know that the island I once called home won’t be left in the hands of a tyrant or a halfwit.”

“Are those specific examples of people in this room, or just random examples,” Rackham asks neutrally, and Madi has learned to recognize when it’s time to intervene.

“That is a noble wish,” she tells Teach. “Should I assume then that if we took this route, your name would be considered for magistrate?”

He is silent for a stretch of several seconds, his face unreadable.

“Yes, it would be,” he says.

Rackham’s response dies right in his mouth. Even John Silver, who has learned to be carefully unexpressive around the leaders, has to blink away his surprise.

She is almost there, she thinks. If she can push this further without the captains dissolving into another fight, she wins.

“Captain Flint, would you put your name in consideration for magistrate or council?” she asks.

“No, three of these meetings are more than enough for me,” he says. “I would, however, nominate my quartermaster for council.”

“What?” Silver says blankly.

“Alright, I nominate myself,” Rackham announces. “Council, not magistrate.”

“ _What?_ ” Silver repeats, talking over Rackham. “I’m quartermaster to an entire crew. You want me to deal with the island’s politics as well?”

“I agree with Captain Flint,” she says. “You’re here because you have a mind for politics, and because people trust you not to abuse your power.”

“That’s cute,” Rackham mutters.

“I, of course, nominate myself to represent my people,” Madi says, raising her voice just a notch.

“Of course,” Silver says.

“Our next step would be to take the nominations to your crews, as soon as possible. Should anyone want to put their name in for council, they can, and you will all vote in your candidate tomorrow afternoon.”

The men manage to nod collectively.

“We’ll take the vote for magistrate on the island,” Teach adds, as though there’s a single living soul willing to challenge him for the position. “Gather up the candidates for the last seat on the council and vote them in the same day.”

“I agree with this course of action,” she says. “Now may we take an official vote now? Are we truly adopting this system?”

“All in favour?” Silver says.

He raises his hand in time with Madi. Flint follows behind, along Teach, and finally Rackham.

“Motion passed,” Teach announces.

The most curious urge to cry hits her then, but she has learned how to swallow it down. She wants to laugh, dance, scream for joy, but all she allows herself is one deep breath and a quiet smile.

“Very well,” she says calmly. “Does anyone have potential candidates from Nassau in mind? Someone born and raised there, who has connections to the community?”

The silence is more telling than anything they could say.

“Yes,” Silver says, while Rackham simultaneously says, “ _No.”_

Silver raises a brow, a knowing smile creeping across his face, and repeats, “Yes.”

“ _No_ , absolutely _not_ ,” Rackham says firmly.

“For fuck’s sake,” Teach says to no one in particular.

*

On the way out of the meeting, Flint falls into step with her. All the pleasantries she can conjure for the day are long gone, so she is relieved when he gets straight to the point.

“Rackham won’t be elected to council,” he says.

“The nights are long,” she says. “The ocean is blue. What other obvious facts must we discuss?”

“Silver will beat him by a wide margin,” he says. “And if I had put my name in, he would beat me too. I’m under no delusion there.”

“Then I’m happy to hear you do not entertain unrealistic expectations.”

“I understand what you’re doing,” he says.

“And what is it that I’m doing?”

“Placing your bets.”

Not ten days past, her breath would have caught in her throat from the sheer audacity of his confrontation. But now, she finds that she was almost expecting it from him.

“I do not gamble with the lives of my people,” she says. “I make my decisions from a place of reason and calculation, always with the goal of securing long term safety for us.”

“ _Nothing personal_ is what you’re saying,” Flint replies, almost amused.

“Your vision for Nassau is one of freedom and prosperity. My people seek that also, so for now our visions align.”

“For now,” he repeats.

“I believe there is nothing you would not sacrifice to secure Nassau’s future,” she says. “If a day comes where you must choose between our alliance and Nassau’s safety, you will not hesitate to cast us aside.”

He does not respond. At first, she thinks that he will deny her accusation, but the silence ticks on.

“You know something,” he finally says. “When I allied with Ms. Guthrie to hunt the _Urca de Lima_ , your father didn’t trust me either. Part of me expected him to order our execution when I saw him return here.”

Madi flinches at the mention of her father. She cannot help it.

“I don’t believe he held any ill will towards you,” she says. “I believe his trust merely had limitations.”

“You know what I believe?” he says. “I believe he knew this place could never last. I believe he wanted Nassau to be ready for the day he moved a nation of Maroons onto her, and risking the wrath of the Spanish navy ripped a gigantic fucking hole in that plan.”

“He could not change the world’s attempts to fill in blank spaces on the map, but he could change Nassau,” she says.

“He did change Nassau,” Flint replies.

“That was what made me think of the council,” she says honestly. “Throwing out the old ways altogether. Nassau must be changed in every way, to her very core. Those governors all fell because they couldn’t see past the rules their empire gave them, even as they broke them.”

They lapse into another silence, one that lasts nearly to the common area. They stop at the outskirts, fragments of chatter and raucous laughter meeting them. Beyond them, people bathed in firelight eat and drink together, laugh and gossip together. She stands in the shadows and longs to be one of them.

“You feel that Mr. Silver will side with you,” he says, out of the blue. “If push comes to shove.”

“Me _personally_?” she says. “No. But I do believe that the fates of my people and your crew are now entwined, and Silver will do anything for his crew. His loyalty lies with them, regardless of his feelings for you.”

She can see it in his eyes: he wants to flinch, but he will not allow himself.

“Then for all our sakes, I hope our alliance lasts for decades,” he says.

“As do I,” she answers.

 

*

The last round of bodies are burned on the night they leave the island. Every person that survived the battle, pirate and islander alike, all crowd the beach as the pyres are lit. In theory, it should be inspiring to see them all standing side by side and mourning as one.

In reality, she just feels sick to her stomach.

She has not gotten used to this, not even after ten days. Shutting her eyes and steadying her breathing does not help. There is no place in her mind she can retreat to when the smell of burning flesh and the heat of the fire tether her to this moment. The pyre is one last demand from the dead- they will not be ignored, they will not go away quietly into the night. Their scent will cling to her clothes and her hair and follow her onto the ship, staying with her on the voyage to come.

Silver stands next to her. His posture is stiff and straight, his face carefully relaxed, but his red eyes give him away. There are striking differences between quartermasters and captains, kings and queens, but they all have the same duty to their people. They will not cry openly.

He looks over at her and catches her eye. She nods. They both cast their gazes back to the pyre, a silent understanding that they owe enough to the dead, that they must force themselves to look.

A few seconds pass, and she reaches to take his hand. He holds onto it hard enough to hurt, like a man adrift at sea grasping for something to keep him afloat. They do not look at each other. She hears him take a deep breath, in and out, and she squeezes his hand before she allows it to slip away. No one notices.

The crowd slowly begins to thin out as the longboats take them away to the ships. She watches Silver scan the beach and doesn’t need to ask who he is looking for. She watches him catch sight of a grim-faced Flint, the shadows under his eyes deepened in the firelight, and feels a pang of pity at the way Silver’s face changes. He is treating the captain the way he is treating the dead: he is forcing himself to look.

“It’s time to go,” she says. They are not words she wants to accept, but someone must say them. She must be the one to speak out first now.

On the longboat, Flint watches her with an unmistakable wariness. She knows now that it is not the wariness of one who protests a woman’s power, it is of one who sees her as a dangerous threat.

 _Good_ , she thinks. She holds his stare for several seconds before she looks beyond him to the beach. The fire blazes on as they board the ship, and she stays by the rails to bid her island farewell.

She knows that she will never return here again.

The shore grows smaller and smaller as they sail away, until the fire is nothing more than a dying star in the night sky, burning bright and gone by morning.

  



End file.
